Like Titanium
by mistymay951
Summary: Korra chooses to marry Amon in a desperate attempt to save the benders of Republic City, but it isn't what she wants, and it definitely isn't what she needs. She comes to realize that maybe there is a time to run, not run away, but run forward, to the future, towards her dreams, wherever they happen to lead her. One-Shot AU, T for some language. Tahnorra


Authors Note (this is kind of long, so skip if you like)- Well first of all, this story is really dedicated to Ashgirl17 because she truly pushed me to find time for writing. To be completely honest, I started two other pieces before this one, both of which I worked on for about a month each, but they just seemed to be getting nowhere, so finally, just a few days ago, I started writing this, and it just flowed so well; it's my longest one-shot to date. Of course, as I am with many of my stories, I'm not too sure if I'm completely satisfied with it, but I'm a self-proclaimed perfectionist. I tried experimenting with a little bit of a different style, so like it or not, please let me know with a PM or review, they are both exponentially appreciated, and as always, happy reading!

**Like Titanium**

The wedding is going to be beautiful, at least that's the word around the compound that they've taken to calling her "prepping home". It's more like a prison without the barred windows. There are equalists stationed around every corner, watching her eat and sleep and think, and all she wants is a moment to herself to contemplate if marrying Amon is really going to fix anything.

It's true that the revolution is practically lost, and being the Avatar without bending makes her practically nothing, and it's also true that Amon has promised to stop stealing from the benders if she complied and married him-_not that there was ever much a choice involved-_, but she doesn't know if trusting him is the smartest thing to do. Why should he tell the truth now? Every time she asks herself this question, she draws a blank and decides that sometimes it's better not to think.

Her wedding chapel is on the outskirts of town, veering towards the mountains but not quite submerged in their icy cloak, and under any other circumstances, it probably would be gorgeous, all hardwood floors and stained-glass windows with enough scope to fit every important person in town and then some, from the councilman to the probenders to the factory workers. It's every girl's dream, well, that is, every girl but her.

The day of the wedding comes far too fast for her liking, and when the dress is presented to her, her stomach twitches in a way that tells her to run because this isn't at all like she imagined her wedding day. She imagined blue fur and her mother's smiling face, not black lace presented by an army of green masks.

"It's beautiful!" they all say, and it really is; it's just not her type of beautiful, and once it's on, it's all wrong. Too wide here, not wide enough there, but most of all, it's not water tribe -_he's _not watertribe-, and it's killing her.

They've finally left her alone, alone to contemplate life, and hopefully come to a conclusion about what's wrong with hers. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, a mix between sadness and determination etched across her features, and she's sure by the end of tonight, one of those two emotions must prevail. She hears the door open behind her and goes to tell whomever it is to fuck off, but when she turns, it's not the green she's come to expect, but rather blue. The same blue she's been trying -_and failing, _she reminds herself-to forget.

"Hey Uhvatar," he says, pasting on an all too familiar smirk, but it's too clouded by grief to qualify as real, and she knows it's mostly her fault because _she_ left him. She left him to be here, to stand in this room, staring at a mirror, and contemplate the meaning of life; they had loved each other- they _still_ love each other- more than they have ever loved anybody else, but they both agreed that it was best for her to marry Amon, to appease him and save the masses, and they are both silently contemplating- _regretting_- that decision now.

She'd ask him why he came to her wedding, but she knows why. It's because Amon, being as cruel as he is, sent him an invitation, and Tahno, inevitably, took is as a challenge, pushing it further by sneaking back to see her. He had wanted to show Amon that no matter how much he stole from him, he could still be strong, but now that he's seen her, he realizes maybe it was never about that to begin with.

They stare at each other for a second, because the weeks they've been apart feel like years, and he already looks so different, so much older, like he's aged a lifetime; she wonders, silently, if he has.

She's noticed that no matter how much they have both aged in this short amount of time, the attraction is still there, the electricity that pulled them together in the first place still hovers in the air, growing stronger with every silent moment they share, reminding them, vaguely, that it might just be their _last_. Suddenly, the space between them feels like light-years, and when he scoots closer and quirks his head to the side -_just the way she used to love_-,and she can't take it anymore. She steps forward, meeting him halfway and devouring his lips.

The kiss is frantic, their teeth clicking and noses bumping, as they move together at a million-frantic-miles-an-hour because they both know that this might be _it_, this might be all the precious time they have together, to get lost in each others lips and drown in their scents. She tugs at his hair pulling him closer, if that's even possible, as his hands crush her to him. Their moans –_unadulterated_- echo in the empty room.

But then, a door slams in the distance, and that's all it takes to snap them out of it, to make them fly away from each other like the plague, as her fingers untangle from his hair and his arms unwind from her waist; a barely suppressed sigh rumbling in their stomachs because _love is rarely silent_.

They stare at each other a second as they try to ingrain the other to memory because this, whatever this truly is, can never, ever happen again. Not in this lifetime anyway, and probably not in the next either because luck has never been something that favored either of them, the ex-probending star and the half-baked avatar, but for a second, she indulges herself in impossible dreams. Dreams of blue weddings and waterbending toddlers, of growing old and laugh lines, and she bites back the tears because she truly wants that, not that she'd ever admit it to anyone. Not now at least. Not to anybody but him.

She can hear footsteps getting closer to door, but no matter how hard she wills them to turn away, they just keep coming. Closer and closer, and she knows that Tahno has to leave now, and there's no use prolonging the inevitable. She drops her eyes from his because maybe she'll cry, and maybe she's afraid he'll think less of her if she does. But he wouldn't; he couldn't ever; he loves her. He slides closer to her, nuzzling his face into her neck, breathing in her scent, touching her hair and back and waist and arm, committing her to memory. He puts his hands on the sides of her head, pulling it close and ghosting his lips over her cheek, then her nose, and finally her temple before he disappears out the window, nothing but a blur against the autumn moon, as he's swallowed by the darkness, and she's all alone again, but not for long -_never for long_.

The equalist, maybe it's a guy, maybe it's a girl-who _really_ cares anymore-,swaggers into the room like they own the place, like they own _her_; the latter, she thinks, might just be true. They put their grubby little hands all over the dress, primping and preening and souring the remnants of His touch; she fights back the anger that threatens to consume her at losing her last tangible part of him. They shove her into a chair, not bothering to be gentle because what's one more bruise next to a hundred? _Obsolete, inevitable, life_. He rips a brush through her hair, masking Tahno's smell and burning her memories to a crisp.

"Got to look pretty for Amon. Don't we, Korra?" he hums to himself, obviously lost in the absolute narcissism of control, "It's not everyday you marry the most powerful man in the world." His- yes, it's a him- hands pull roughly through her hair, manipulating it into an intricate braid, and tying it off with a black string.

When he's done, he grabs hold of the braid and pulls her head back, his lips ghosting over her ear, "You know Korra," her name sounds perverted rolling off his tongue, "You're weak; you've always been weak, and this just proves it." With that, he releases her braid, snapping her neck forward in the process, and turns to leave, but he's too late because she's already made her decision. Suddenly, the vase from the table is in her hands and is striking the back of his head. _Hard_. Like hard enough to bruise, maybe even kill, but she doesn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out. She looks around, desperate for a way out because that was an impulsive move, and those kinds of moves rarely involve a plan. She knows she has to hurry though because where there's one equalist another two are close behind.

Her eyes lock on the open window, the same window her dreams just flew out of, and she decides she's not going to run away anymore, she's going to run towards him, towards her dreams. She's going to move forward, even if that means a three-story climb to the bottom, if Tahno is waiting at the end, it'll _always_ be worth it. She checks one more time that -Equalist is still unconscious before taking his clothes off and switching them for her own because she's fairly certain dresses are harder to climb in. Once she is properly attired, she swings her body out the window. The brick wall is flatter than she would have liked, and it would be a hell of a lot easier with bending, but she's fairly positive she can make it; if Tahno did, she can, and with that thought, she drops from the window ledge and begins her descent.

The first few feet down are shaky, the brick slicing her palms open with an unyielding vengeance, and she curses La under her breath as trails of dirty blood race her to the bottom. Her nails, not quite as long or sharp as they used to be, dig into the brick with such ferocity, Korra thinks they may shatter just from the sheer force of her scratching. They slip a few times, giving her mini heart attacks that remind her she is all too mortal.

She's about halfway down when she hears the door open above, and strings of curses sail down to her ears. She can hear the room being torn apart, paper flying and glass shattering. She freezes on the wall, praying that they're as stupid as they look, but the spirits are not kind tonight because before long a masked face pops out of the window and spots her. Just like that, her body kicks into action, descending faster and faster into the unknown, fueled by a rush of adrenaline she didn't know she had. She can barely hear the equalist calling for back up or the footsteps that come sprinting into the room above, but she _does_ hear ropes dropping down the wall next her, and that only hurries her more because now _they're_ climbing out the window, and they're _faster_ than her, and this _can't _end now, not after all she's been through.

She's about a story up when she makes her decision, when her claws retract from the wall and she falls ungracefully to the bottom in a heap of gray. She can vaguely feel that she's broken something in her left leg, but she still has adrenaline left and it numbs everything out but the urge to flee, so she does. She pulls herself ungracefully to her feet and bolts away like wounded animals do, running through grass and bramble and over concrete, relying on her instincts to lead her home, guide her to him. She takes as many turns as possible, trying to lose them on her trail, and she's fairly certain she does, but it's not long until her lungs burn and her eyes water, and she knows the adrenaline is running low. She's close to the city now, and with her last ounces of energy, she pushes forward until she finds herself on the streets. Her feet lead her on unconsciously, into a familiar apartment building, up a familiar set of steps and into a familiar room, before she collapses on the floor, tired and broken, but alive. Her leg is starting to ache, no longer numbed by adrenaline, and she looks down to see the damage. She'd say it looked worse than it really was, but that would be an absolute lie, because it _looks_ bad, it _feels_ bad, and she's _too exhausted_ to deal with it right now.

As she tries desperately to calm her heart beat, she imagines the chapel, the one that _almost_ imprisoned her, full to the brim with guests excited to see the "happy" bride-to-be, Tahno sitting in the far right corner, his mouth set in the tight line that means something between I'm pissed and I'm heartbroken. The one only he had ever mastered. Amon's probably spewing some shit about his fiancée having "pre-marital" jitters, and soon the guests will be dismissed, row-by-row, seat-by-seat, until they get to the one in the far right corner, and He'll come racing home because that's how well he knows her, but for now, she sits in perfect silence and counts the seconds as they tick on.

She must have drifted off because she wakes up to the sound of a door opening. She peers up groggily to see an almost expectant Tahno staring down at her.

"Could have at least let me in on the plan, _Uhvatar_," he says trying to sound nonchalant, but she can see it in his eyes, worry, concern, maybe even a little guilt, and who can blame him? It's not everyday you come home to find you girlfriend passed out on the floor in an equalist get-up, with what looks to be a pretty a pretty fucked up leg.

"There wasn't actually a plan involved, _Pretty Boy_," she states simply, as she props herself up against the nearby wall, and it's hard for him not to cringe at the way her face scrunches up in half-concealed pain. He walks to the kitchen and fetches her a glass of water, and she grabs it from him greedily drinking the entire thing in one gulp, and hands the glass back, an expectant pout on her face. He's fills it up again, muttering something about wearing an apron under his breath, before giving it back to her. This one she drinks more slowly, stopping momentarily to punch his arm in appreciation before continuing on her escapade.

He takes her momentary distraction as an opportunity to examine her thigh. By only looking through the rips in her pants, he can already tell it's bad, the worst he's ever seen, and he's seen a lot. He pulls out his knife, the one he has taken to carrying in his back pocket since he lost his bending, and in one quick slash, he cuts away the excess fabric. He's relieved to see there's no bone sticking out, but that's about as far as his relief goes. Her thigh is perpetually purple, blotched 50 different shades of black and blue; he's no doctor, but he can _easily_ deduct that thighs are not supposed to be shaped like that, and he is fairly certain it needs to be set. Like, soon. He's knows that he's not quite the expert she had in mind for the job, but he's all she's got, and she's going to have to deal with it.

"Listen, Korra," he starts slowly, not quite sure how she'll react to his little doctor scheme.

"Just do it," she dead pans, reading his mind like only she's able to, and he tries not to stare at her dumbly because she's the only one who could ever peg him like that, " I can handle it."

He nods grimly, offering her the wooden handle of his knife to bite down on, and, of course, she rejects it, choosing instead to grit her teeth through the pain –_stubborn, stubborn girl_. He sighs, stabilizing her against the wall, before shifting to straddle her knees, trying his best not to jostle the offending appendage too much.

"You always did like it on top," she jokes quietly, trying desperately to make this scene a little more okay. He doesn't laugh, neither does she. Because this _could never be okay_.  
He grips her thigh lightly, and he can already see the pain reflected on her face, dancing across her eyes and settling with a twitch in her nose, and he wonders _vainly_ whether its possible for this to hurt him more than it's hurting her.

"On three," he says, never breaking their eye contact; she nods tightly, the kind of nod that anticipates pain, but, no matter how hard it may try to be, is never truly ready.

"One..." his fingers tighten a bit on her thigh and she grunts out her disapproval.

"Two..." And then he does it, snapping her bone back into where he thinks is the right place before she has the chance to back out. He leans forward as fast as he can, covering her contorted mouth with his hand because it's inevitable that she'll scream, and he doesn't need any more questions from his neighbor.

Her reaction is a mix grunts and screams as she curses every spirit from Tui to La and back again; it's muffled haphazardly by his hand, and all he can do is hope its enough not to invoke suspicion. She's not crying, but she's sweating bullets, and he wishes he could take the pain away, but he can't, so instead, he rides it with her, grabbing her hand and squeezing hard until the room is silent, save for her labored breaths behind his hand, and only then does he remove his fingers.

"I hate you," she pants in the most menacing voice a slightly delusional and completely exhausted avatar can manage, and he chuckles because he knows that she's going to be just fine. He picks her up bridal style, carefully avoiding her thigh, and carries her to the couch. He would have taken her to the bedroom, but that's way too far away, and she's heavy. He tells her so, and earns himself a half-hearted slap to the back of the head.

"Whoa there, Tiger," he smirks, "Wouldn't want you to break another bone."

The glare she sends him could have turned Avatar Kyoshi to stone- _That's my girl_, he thinks.

He sets her on the couch, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt for her to change into, before tossing the equalist garb unceremoniously down the garbage chute. He brings her a blanket and a couple of pillows on his way back, and he thinks that he really shouldn't be surprised when he comes in to find her asleep, drooling all over herself, spread out like a demented Wolfbat, on his couch. He sighs, not that it really bothers him that much, and drapes the blanket over her small form.

* * *

When she wakes up again, she's surprise to feel her leg has been properly set, bound together with a rough splint, that hinders her movement, and, she thinks, is _way_ past Tahno's ability as a doctor.

She stretches her arms out, admiring the bandage work that somebody had done on her palms while she slept; she fingers at the white gauze unconsciously, pulling it up to try to peak at the progress underneath.

"Don't pick at it, Korra," he scolds from the kitchen without ever turning around to face her because Tenzin always has had eyes in the back of his head.

"Sifu!" She grins cheekily, because just a week ago, she was sure she would never see him again; she maneuvers herself and stands up, shaking a bit on her feet, as they adjust to the added weight of the makeshift cast. She was right to think it would hinder her: the death trap makes it impossible to walk, let alone fight, and she's beginning to regret her one story drop.

Tenzin sighs from his position in the corner, turning around and easing her back onto the couch, saying, "You have to take this slow. This isn't just another scratch." She sighs impatiently tapping her good foot in annoyance as Tahno waltzes into the room.

"Looks who's _finally_ up," he dead pans," You've _only_ been out for, like, three days."

She shifts herself a little more to face him, so she can properly stick her tongue out at him, but her moment of childish innocence is quickly overtaken by her Avatar instincts, and she's sure, just by looking as the lines on Tahno's face and the bags under Tenzin's eyes that she's missed something -_something big_.

"So what's the plan," she says slowly, not trying to overstep her half-awake boundaries, but much too impatient not to ask. The two men make eye contact, and, like an unspoken agreement, Tenzin nods and leaves the room.

"We have to leave Republic City," he says gravely, and she wasn't expecting that. The words slam her in the stomach like a brick, and the impact leaves her confused because she _can't_ leave without helping all these innocent people, and she doesn't understand why henever even thought of that, thought of her.

She doesn't even take the chance to think about why he would even suggest it, why this is a beneficial plan; because, as far as she's concerned, he _can't_ just up and leave like that, Republic City is _his_ home- _my home too_, she thinks greedily- and he wants to run away! He wants to run away from the _pain _and the _suffering_ of the bending population, the one she is expected to miraculously save, and she just doesn't think she can do that, doesn't think she can leave, without marking herself as a _coward_, because _she's_ the Avatar, and _she's_ not supposed to turn her back on the people who need her.

"No."

The word is _titanium_, unyielding to the bullets of his argument, and had it been anybody -_anybody_- else, they would have given up, backed down and let her have her way, but Tahno is a man in love, and Korra underestimated that- underestimated _him_.

"Yes, Korra," he growls, and when she doesn't even acknowledge he's said anything, it takes all he has not to _smack_ some sense into her because the equlalist's are searching _everywhere_ for her, and this isn't just something she can fix _overnight_, but when he tries tells her this, when he tells her that now is _not_ the time and Republic City is _not_ the place to heal herself, to become strong once again, she scoffs at him.

"I can _handle_ myself!" her voice slices through the walls, raw and powerful, " If you want to run, go ahead, but count me out! It's my duty to help these people, and if I leave, who will be here to save them?"

"I don't give a Fuck if its your _duty_ or not because if you die, then what will happen? I'm not going to let you kill yourself over some damn pride thing!" he screams over her, and that's when it sinks in for the both of them. This isn't about him, or even them, this is about _her_, about her living to fight another day, about her winning when the world -and the _odds_- are against her.

He stares at her, daring her to disagree again.

"Fine," she snaps at him, and then it's done; the plans are made; the bags are packed, and Tenzin uses his resources to call in a ship, all before she has the chance to change her mind

She stands on the deck, the cool sea air filling her lungs and awakening her spirit from hibernation. Her hands grip the rail hard, and she swears she can see a dent in it as the sun begins to paint the sky a thousand different shades of predawn oranges. As she watches Republic City disappear before her eyes, she wants to feel relieved, like her burden is somehow gone -left behind, _forgotten-_ but she can't; she can't feel anything but regret, regret for running, regret for failing those who relied on her, _regret_. But then she hears Tahno behind her, quiet, as he sometimes is, lost shamelessly in his own thoughts, and in a moment of rare affection, his hands snake around her waist from behind, pulling her taut against his body, and his head comes to rest on her shoulder, peeking over just enough, so that she can see his angled face.

"You know we're coming back," he mumbles lazily into her neck, and it's more of a statement than anything else, so instead of answering, she punts back another question.

"When?"

"Soon." He whispers in her ear, like its their dirty little secret, and maybe -just _maybe- _she cries a little as Republic City fades away and her world is quiet -perhaps a little _too_ quiet- once again.


End file.
